Geography Lessons
by Ithilwen of Himring
Summary: Amrod and Amras get a lesson in map-reading both physical and political from Maedhros. Written for the "Fanon Inverted" Silmarillion Writers' Guild Challenge, taking on the "twins as pranksters" fanon convention.


**Geography Lessons**

By Ithilwen

"Do you think we're craven? Don't think we don't know what you're doing, brother. We can read a map."

"We won't go there. We're not going to sit in the south in safety while you and the rest of our brothers put yourselves in the most dangerous positions in this war against Morgoth and reap all the glory. We're adults now, in case that has escaped you, and we swore the same Oath you did. Stop treating us like children!"

Maedhros put aside the letter he had been writing when Amrod and Amras angrily stormed into his tent, and let out a heavy sigh. When his youngest brothers were very small, it had been all but impossible to tell the two of them apart. The passage of years had remedied that difficulty, molding each into a slightly different form, but now as he looked from one outraged face to another, the eldest son of Fëanor saw identical expressions of indignation and hurt pride there. _First Caranthir publicly insults our cousin Angrod, now my twin brothers are challenging my authority. This has been a trying council indeed! _"I am not treating you like children – although the way you're both acting now, I'd certainly be justified in doing so. You accuse me without even bothering to ask my reasons for this decision!" He pushed a map of Beleriand across the table. "You say you can read maps. Tell me what you see here."

Amrod pointed to the lands his eldest brother had just assigned to him and his brother. "I see that we're to be nowhere near the fighting. You've dropped the two of us into a pretty sylvan playpen – 'Go hunting, little brothers, and leave the dirty work to me!' That's what we both see, because there's nothing else _to_ see!"

"So much for your map-reading abilities, little brother," Maedhros replied with a faint chuckle. "I'm quite confident you can make you way across the physical landscape armed with this map and your skills – but you're clearly hopelessly lost when it comes to venturing through the _political_ landscape. Time for some lessons. Here's how your big brother reads things. We face two menaces here, not just one. This one, you're already all too familiar with." He pointed at the northern edge of the map. "Angband."

"But there's a second." Maedhros shifted his hand, and tapped his finger in the very center of the map. "Doriath. Oh, Thingol's not an open enemy – he's not going to attack us. But he is _not_ a friend to the Noldor, and his damned kingdom is sitting right in the very middle of things. It's an obstruction, and unless you're one of Finarfin's children and Thingol is also feeling generous, there are only two ways around it: the northern route through Dorthonion, and the southern route, which passes through the lands our cousin Finrod seems likely to claim. I'll come back to that later. For now, let's shift our attention to our own lands."

He turned the map slightly, then rested his finger in the center of a line of hills in the northeast quadrant. "These hills are a natural barrier, and this, the tallest of them, is the key to our entire defensive position. Do you wonder that I claim these hills for myself, then? But here, and here –" and Maedhros shifted his hand slightly, "there are gaps. Gaps which must be plugged, if our position is to hold."

"We know that already," Amras protested as bent over to study the map with his brother. "Why do you think we're so upset? You need us there! Instead your foolish over protectiveness –"

"You're still not seeing, brothers. Look again; I've placed the two of you were you are most useful.

"Who holds Dorthonion? Angrod and Aegnor seem to have claimed that land for themselves. That's why I've given Thargelion to our brother Caranthir. We all know what _great_ love he bears our Finarfian cousins and Elu Thingol; best to keep him as far away from them all as possible. Celegrom and Curufin, on the other hand, get along reasonably well with Angrod and Aegnor; before our family was exiled to Formenos, those four spent quite a lot of time together. It only makes sense to put Celegorm and Curufin at the Pass of Aglon.

"So, that takes care of four of the seven of us. Now, I suppose I could have placed the two of you east of this gap in the hills, alongside Maglor. But doing that would cede control of most of eastern Beleriand – indeed, the very best part of eastern Beleriand – to others. Hardly a good idea. And of the three of you, Maglor would be the least useful in the south."

"I don't see that at all," Amras replied hotly. "Two swords at the Gap beats one. By your own logic, it's Maglor you should be sending south, not us. Plus, we're better fighters than he is. Everyone knows it, even you."

Maedhros leaned back in his chair and chuckled faintly. "Oh, I'm quite sure you'd both be capable defenders of that gap. It's Maglor who won't be able to perform _your_ job in the south, not the other way around. I need you there in the south as ambassadors.

"_Think_, little brothers! You're both hunters by heart, at home in the woods – who better to deal with the Laiquendi, or any Silvan messengers Thingol might see fit to send from Doriath? They'll be far more at ease with you than they would be with any of the rest of us, apart from possibly Celegorm. And as I said before, anyone coming to our lands from the west will greatly prefer the southerly route around Doriath to the bleak northern crossing through Dorthonion. You said everyone knows you're both better fighters than our brother Maglor. That's not true at all; in fact, no one outside our immediate family knows that. You two were still underage when we left for Formenos; you'd only just reached your majority when Grandfather was slain and we all swore our Oath. Our cousins, when they see you, don't see battle-hardened warriors; they've never really known you as adults, after all. Instead they see the pair of rambunctious young Elves who once filled all the fountains in Grandfather's garden with frogs and salamanders right before his spring festival party, which was made rather… memorable… by their presence, since they kept hopping into people's plates and croaked so loudly the musicians were all but drowned out. They remember watching you tossing flour-bombs at passers-by out of the upstairs windows of the palace, and short-sheeting King Ingwë's bed when he visited –"

Amrod placed his head into his hands and groaned. Amras flushed and shook his head. "I hardly see how our cousins viewing us as foolish pranksters is helpful, Maedhros."

"Not foolish pranksters, little brother – high-spirited children. When our cousins look at me, or Maglor, or our other brothers, they see Kinslayers, fell Fëanorions. When they look at you, they see innocence. Compared to the rest of us, you two are the_ good_ Fëanorions. They'll be less guarded around you – and that, my brothers, is a very great advantage indeed. May it be many long years before they realize you have both in fact grown up!"

"I hadn't looked at things that way," Amrod replied slowly. He looked over at his twin. "Perhaps you are right. We'll consider what you've said. Goodnight, Maedhros."

Maedhros sighed again, more softly, as he watched his two youngest brothers depart. "That you actually believed my words shows what innocents you both still are," he muttered to himself as he rolled the map of Beleriand back up. "Of _course_ I'm trying to protect you; you've not even turned one hundred yet! I'd put all my younger brothers in the south were it feasible, but it's not; as it is, I can hardly be faulted for doing what I can to ensure my baby brothers get at least a brief chance to enjoy their young adulthood before the burdens of war descend on us all. Don't be so eager to grow up, Ambarussa; it's a highly over-rated experience."

Map folded away, he returned to his letter. Picking up his quill with his only remaining hand, he slowly began to write, struggling to keep his letters legible and the ink unsmeared. _To the High King Fingolfin, I give my greetings. My liege, I feel it meet that I and my brothers should remove ourselves with haste into the eastern portions of these lands once our business at this council has been satisfactorily concluded…_


End file.
